


Buzz Words

by sevryx (Viridescent_Espionage)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Bounty Hunter Reader, No Smut, Oneshot collection, Reader-Insert, daddy kink (if you squint)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:55:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22152883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viridescent_Espionage/pseuds/sevryx
Summary: Language is a powerful thing to which no one, not even a bounty hunter nor a Mandalorian, is immune.
Relationships: The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 267





	Buzz Words

The Mandalorian was a man of few words.

More often than not, your journeys with the fellow bounty hunter were supplied by the constant soundtrack of silence, minimal conversation and even careful footsteps and movements through the Razor Crest cushioning every sound. You weren’t sure if it was because the man himself simply didn’t like noise, but you weren’t going to be the one to found out.

You yourself, however, despised the lack of sound.

It wasn’t that you wanted it noisy and rowdy and boisterous at all times, no. It wasn’t even that you were particularly talkative.

It was that the silence was absolutely suffocating.

And on top of that, you were dying to get to know the Mandalorian you had been traveling with for months now.

So this was where you currently were, attempting to engage in conversation with a man who it seemed didn’t wish to show you his voice almost as much as he didn't wish to show you his face. He was sitting in the pilot’s seat despite the ship being on autopilot, and you were sitting in the co-pilot’s chair behind him. The Child was asleep and in the lower cabin of the ship below the cockpit. You were no more than half an hour away from your next destination, and again, you found the silence not only deafening, but irritating.

But you were bad at starting a conversation, and you knew it.

“Do you ever wish people could actually touch you?”

Like, really bad at starting a conversation.

His helmet turned towards you, and you pursed your lips in regret, looking to the side as if you were never looking at him at all.

“That would be very detrimental in combat.”

You scoffed, but he didn’t turn away. Sparing a glance towards him, you rested your chin in your hand, arm propped up on the armrest of your seat.

“That’s not what I meant, Mando,” you explained, “I meant in general. Outside of battle.” Your voice was even, nearly uninterested despite your inquiries. “You know? Like... intimacy? Human contact. Touching.” The syllables were separated with emphasis, but your words weren’t taunting in the least.

There was a loaded moment of silence. This time, the Mandalorian did turn away, facing the ship controls as if it would erase the question.

“…No.” He said, weakly. It was a lie, and he spoke the word like he wanted you to understand that.

You hummed in consideration, standing and stretching your legs and arms. His helmet turned ever so slightly, and you knew he was watching you from the corner of his gaze.

Turning on your heel, you made your way towards the ladder. It would only be moments before you landed in Naboo, and you were certain the Child would wake any minute now.

His stare never left you until you disappeared down the cockpit’s hatch.

_Do you ever wish people could actually touch you?_

The Mandalorian sighed.

* * * * * 

You fought to catch your breath, wiping away a small stream of blood from your lips as you surveyed the scene before you. Seven assailants, all down, and if they weren’t dead, they were going to be very soon. The cantina was a wreck, and no one was to blame but you and the Mandalorian, and the attackers who dared to keep you from your asset. Not that the two of you would be charged, of course. No barkeep in the galaxy that you’d met would do that to bounty hunters such as yourselves, especially when one was clad in beskar.

With your client being located on Naboo, it didn’t take long for you and Mando to retrieve your bounty, heading back to the Razor Crest with fresh bruises and scrapes, but with much more credits in your pocket than you landed with.

Night was falling quickly, and the Mandalorian was packing his guns away in the small locked cabinet by the baby’s sleeping nook.

“You fight well.” He said, all of a sudden. Your head snapped towards him quicker than you intended. You set your own gun down on the rack.

“Th-Thank you.” You replied, after an awkward silence. “You as well.”

He was quiet, and his hands ceased their calculated movements as if he was lost in thought.

“Where were you trained?” He asked, setting his weapon down on its hooks and closing the cabinet with a soft hiss of metal doors.

A personal question. That was out of character, you noted.

“I, um.” You rubbed at the back of your neck. “I wasn’t formally trained, I suppose. I was never a soldier.” You explained, removing the remainder of your gear and setting it down on a crate. “But I was raised by mercenaries and former Rebel soldiers who put me into my trade. I was trained to be a bounty hunter, and fighting was included in that package, I suppose.”

He made a small grunt, his nod barely detectable. His feet did not move.

“They taught you well.” He stated, firmly. “I am sure that you bring them honor.”

“As much honor as you can bring to mercenaries and bounty hunters, I suppose.”

He chuckled, and you weren’t sure you’ve ever heard him do that before. You selfishly wanted to hear it again, but remained silent. The smallest smile graced your lips, and he stared at you.

“I enjoy watching you fight, as well.” You said suddenly, and you felt you face burn. “I-I mean, it is… ah…” You struggled to find your words, eyes wandering like a gunship unable to lock onto its target. “I am glad you are fighting alongside me. As I am also… fighting… at the same time. And not just, um. Watching you.” You felt like an X-wing with a shot engine, tumbling out of the sky and into the dunes of Tatooine with no power source and no one to rescue you.

It was quiet, and for a moment he said nothing. You smiled weakly.

“Likewise.”

You nodded and turned away from the Mandalorian, heading towards the refresher with a humiliated sense of urgency in your step. You scolded yourself silently for butchering such an innocent and positive conversation.

 _You fight well_.

The door slammed shut a little bit too loud behind you. You sighed.

* * * * * 

Only a day passed before your next job came in. The location was easily accessible – just another dingy bar in another dingy city on another dingy planet. The asset was just another dingy man.

He backed into the table of the cantina, face bloody from the previous fight. The tankards fell behind him, spilling alcohol onto the seats and he scrambled for an escape that didn’t exist.

The Mandalorian was standing behind you, blaster in hand as you approached the asset.

A small hologram shone from the bounty puck you held in your hands, and the man in front of you swallowed hard, visibly shaking.

“P-Please! I can give you wh-whatever they promised and more!”

“No bargains.” You said, voice low and clipped. “We can bring you in warm,” you cocked your blaster in your other hand, the sound sharp and threatening, “Or we can bring you in cold."

The next moment went by in a flash, the asset’s futile attempt at escape ending when you swung the hilt of the pistol at his head, knocking him out cold. You cuffed him, and propped him up on your shoulder, the Mandalorian behind you shrugging him onto his own arm as the two of left the bar, the remaining patrons looking on in shock.

You were approaching the Razor Crest when the Mandalorian finally spoke.

“That’s my line.”

“I figured you wouldn’t mind if I borrowed it.”

The asset was frozen in carbonite, and the two of you made your way to the cockpit to set a course for the next asset on the client’s list. The child was cooing in his nook, and so you grabbed him gently and ascended the adjacent ladder.

The ship was soon in the air, and a comfortable quiet fell over the room. The baby’s gentle babbling was slowing as his big eyes surveyed the blackness of space and the shining of the surrounding stars, and you felt him drift off in your arms.

After a while, Mando spoke.

“I can’t believe you pistol-whipped our asset.”

“He went down awfully quick, too.” You laughed. The Mandalorian let out a bout of breathy amusement in response.

The sound of your two voices dissipated, leaving the Razor Crest in his usual silence, void of tension. The Child’s snores filled the silence and you smiled.

_We can bring you in warm, or we can bring you in cold._

You folded your arms over the baby gently, and he turned towards you, a look of content resting on his features behind the beskar of his helmet.

The both of you sighed.

* * * * *

The next few assets came quietly, not much for fighting or running, it appeared. The last on the list was a former Imperial, one with a bad reputation and a worse disposition.

You and the Mandalorian found yourselves struggling to catch your breath, the few guards he had on him lying cold on the ground of the warehouse and your target mirroring your guns with his own as you aimed them at him.

The man smiled, and you felt sick. A loud explosion rung suddenly in your ears, causing you to stumble and twist your head quickly towards your partner, who was thrown to the ground. You fought the urge to immediately assist him, instead shooting the wicked man in the leg and coughing as the debris and dust enveloped the room. You quickly approached the target, satisfied with his writhing on the ground, and kicked his weapons out of reach. The sound of blaster fire shook you, but you cuffed him regardless, sparing a glance towards the Mandalorian, who was propped up on his knee and shooting the remaining guards with his pulse rifle.

Then it was quiet. The muted sounds of the crumbling building faded, and you dragged the Imp behind you as you approached your Mandalorian.

 _My Mandalorian?_ You thought, absently. That was a thought for another day.

“You okay, Mando?” You asked, concerned. He nodded before collapsing to the ground.

A rush of panic went through your body, and you quickly grabbed him under the arm. He was barely conscious, and that much was obvious. You were grateful that the ship wasn’t far, and you were glad that the adrenaline coursing through your body was enough to let you drag the two men to the Razor Crest doors without collapsing.

It went by quickly in your hazy state, but the asset was then frozen and the ship was in the air. You set a course back to the location of the client and allowed the autopilot function to relieve some of your stress.

Hopping down from the ladder, you quickly collected the baby into your arms, who was crying and grabbing at the bleeding and injured Mandalorian resting against the cargo crates. You shushed the Child and set him into his nook.

“Come on, Mando,” you said, kneeling, “Stay with me here.”

“I’m… I’m fine.” He coughed out, and you smiled in relief at the bite in his tone.

“I know, but we’re gonna patch you up before you give baby a heart attack at the young, young age of, ah. Um. Fifty.” You laughed, and again, you heard him chuckle. The sweet sound was quickly interrupted by his grimace of pain, and the gravity of the situation fell back upon you like a meteor.

“Okay, um,” your hands flitted about, and you pulled his cape aside to find a long gash on his torso that curved along his side and dug underneath his chest plate. “I’m going to need to see underneath your armor. Just here – not your helmet. Is that okay? Can you let me see you?” Your voice was strung with urgency and painful concern, and he nodded after a moment. He could handle whatever head injuries he may have gotten. Thankfully, he was not in such a critical condition that unmasking himself was necessary. He trusted you to handle the rest.

“Okay, okay…” Your voice drawled off as you removed the beskar from his chest and arms. Tearing away the remainder of his shirt, you almost couldn’t stop yourself from skating your eyes over the taut, bronzed skin underneath. Reaching into the med-kit beside you, you fumbled for gauze and bacta-spray. You’d patched each other up a thousand times before, and this was no different. He hissed through his helmet when you touched the cut with a wet rag, and you apologized under your breath.

“Almost there.” You said after a while of cleaning and spraying. A painting of purples and reds and blues covered his side, and you feared injuries deeper than what you could treat. There was no need for a cauterizer, fortunately. You hated using that thing.

Only a few more minutes passed before you finished, and you carefully wrapped gauze and bandage over the wound. The bleeding had slowed to a stop, but the flesh was still red and angry and torn, despite it being clean. You halted your ministrations, the two of you simply stopping to breathe for a moment. He sat up slowly, chest rising and falling. If his breathing was okay, perhaps his ribs were not broken. You heaved a sigh of relief. 

“Thank you.” The Mandalorian said. You nodded, tired.

You stood, helping him to his feet.

“You should, um. You should go ahead and check yourself for any head injuries, since I can’t… you know.”

“I know.” He nodded, turning on his heel towards the refresher and shutting the door behind him carefully, leaving you and the Child in the hall of the Razor Crest alone.

In the confines of the small chamber, the Mandalorian removed his helmet, setting it aside and examining himself with a weary eye. Handsome features and carefully groomed facial hair were matted with a few patches of blood on his forehead and cheek, but nothing that he hadn’t dealt with before.

He was grateful for your company. Grateful for you concern. He was even a little bit grateful for the helmet that covered his face when he watched you, a smile only familiar to himself gracing his lips as he thought about you.

_Can you let me see you?_

Maker, how he wishes the answer could have been a complete and total yes. Not just his hands, or his body. His face. All of him. The same way he wanted to see all of you.

The unfamiliar urge to be seen coursed through his injured body as he turned the faucet on, lukewarm water rushing over the dirty skin of his face. True, it had occurred more and more often as you continued to travel alongside him. But never this often. Never this powerful.

He thought about the way your hands drifted along his body.

Din Djarin sighed.

* * * * * 

A month had gone by since the incident, and you had been relaxing on a small, unpopulated planet for the past week. The client was good to his word, and provided the two of you with enough credits to fix the ship, stock up on supplies and food, and relax for a while. You breathed a sigh of relief, stoking the dying fire and feeling content. The Child was asleep in your lap, snoring softly, and the Mandalorian was sitting next to you on the ground. Your knees touched once in a while in the close proximity before you settled to rest yours against his, testing the waters. He didn’t pull away. You smiled.

His helmet turned towards you, and you averted your gaze towards the baby.

“He likes you, you know.” He said, quietly.

“He likes you more.” You replied, cheekily. He snickered. “No, I’m serious.” You insisted, turning towards him. “I’m certain he thinks you’re his father.”

“Then I’m certain he thinks of you as his mother.”

There was a beat of silence, and your felt the blood rush to your cheeks. The Mandalorian tensed, and you were intrigued by the falter of his stony demeanor.

You allowed yourself to laugh softly, and the tension left his shoulders almost immediately. You squeezed his thigh gently right above his knee guard and stood carefully, the Child in your arms.

“I’m going to put this little one to bed and retire for the night.” You said, sauntering towards the ship. You felt his eyes on you as he stood.

“Care to join me then, _daddy_?” You teased him, pinpointing his earlier slip-up and driving the metaphorical knife in with a show of good humor.

Instead of a feeling of humiliation bubbling up to his throat as he expected, the Mandalorian’s mouth went dry. It was shameful really. He wanted you to say it again. He wanted to hear you say other things, too.

_Care to join me then, daddy?_

He walked quickly to catch up, lost in the sound of your sweet mirth and the snoring baby amidst the crackling of the dying fire and the wind in the tall trees behind him.

You laughed.

He laughed, too.


End file.
